


Do it again

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (debatably), (in the biblical sense), (very wet), Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BACK ON MY BULLSHIT, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Edging, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous use of italics, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Interrogation, Light Bondage, Love, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Praise Kink, Rimming, Sex Toys, Smut, Soft™, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tenderness, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Trust Issues, Vibrators, Wet Dream, but like, how to lovingly wreck your demon 101, just enough of a bottom to be worth knowing, slight misuse of angelic powers for sexy reasons, very very
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 11:57:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: Crowley moans behind closed lips, an honest-to-God full body shiver breaking through him. The angel’s burning eyes pin him down, stronger than any heavenly rope.He should ask what’s going on. He should open his mouth and tell Aziraphale this is all well and good (very good) but this is not the time for this kind of thing. He should.Instead, when he’s able to focus his snake eyes on the angel again, he licks his lips and says, “Do it again.”~~~Crowley has three things no other demon has: an imagination, an issue to solve, and a very indulgent angel.





	Do it again

**Author's Note:**

> If 7k words of porn and Feelings getting progressively softer is your thing, I wrote this for you 🌸

“M’going to sleep, angel.” Crowley mumbles, his eyelids already heavy as he drops a kiss on the top of the angel’s head, among soft white-blond curls.

Aziraphale, engrossed in the book he’s reading, his cocoa growing cold on his desk, makes a non-committal noise without turning around. Crowley warms up his cup again with a small, frivolous miracle before heading upstairs.

* * *

When he wakes up, he immediately knows something is off. His vision is blurred at the edges. Everything is so… white. This is not their bedroom in the charming South Downs cottage they share.

He’s sitting in a chair in a small, empty room. When he tries to move, he realizes his wrists are tied to the armrests. The thick, plush golden rope prickles on his skin – something holy, then. He can turn his head around just enough to look behind him, but all he finds is another empty white wall.

He tries to convince the rope to loosen and finds out he can’t. Distressingly, he seems to have no power whatsoever, not even to materialize on his nose the spare pair of sunglasses he keeps in his jacket. His bare eyes sting from the brightness all around him, and he can’t do jack about it.

Just as he’s beginning to grow frustrated with his current predicament, an entrance that wasn’t there a second before opens in the wall in front of him. Gabriel steps in, closely tailed by Aziraphale.

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow and gives him the slightest of head shakes, and Crowley gets the message loud and clear: Heaven doesn’t know about them. They will have to pretend to be actual enemies in front of Gabriel.

“Demon.” The archangel says, his chiselled chin raised high to better look down on him. “You know why you’re here.”

Crowley blinks at him, unimpressed. “I really don’t.”

“You are here,” Gabriel gathers his hands behind his back, “Because we know Hell is planning something big. And you’re going to tell us all about it.”

“Uh,” Crowley replies. “Think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Ah, I’m afraid you do not fully comprehend the scope of the situation you’re in.” He gestures for Aziraphale to come forward. “Aziraphale, show him.”

In the six thousand years they’ve known each other, Crowley has never been afraid Aziraphale could actually hurt him. From the moment he shielded him from the rain on the wall of Eden, the angel has been his source of comfort, frustration, yearning, affection, connection, hope. Any fear Crowley ever had was fear of losing him, hurting him, causing him to be cast away from Heaven before he was ready. Never, _never_ has Crowley been afraid of Aziraphale.

Until now. Aziraphale’s face is uncharacteristically blank and cold as he steps between him and Gabriel. He reaches out and touches the tip of a finger to the back of Crowley’s hand. He widens his eyes a fraction, but Crowley doesn’t understand what he’s telling him until he sends a jolt of angelic power through his arm.

Then he gets it.

He yelps, thrashing against his restraints, doing his best imitation of a demon writhing in pain. In truth, Aziraphale’s electric shock barely reached his elbow, burning through him just enough to startle him.

“Whoa, Aziraphale,” Gabriel smiles, putting a hand on the angel’s shoulder and tugging him back. “Hold back a little. I understand this demon has been your nemesis for thousands of years, but we need to keep him alive for now.”

_Shit, I went overboard_, Crowley thinks, panting as he straightens up again on the chair.

“So sorry, Gabriel,” Aziraphale smooths down the lapels of his tan jacket. “I got carried away.” He glares at Crowley, making it very clear which one of them needs to be scolded for getting carried away.

“Now,” Gabriel claps his hands together. “Aziraphale asked to be put in charge of your interrogation. It was only fair, considering he’s been thwarting your wiles for six thousand years.” He turns around to leave, but glances back at Crowley just before going through the door. “Make sure not to anger him too much, will you? It would be very inconvenient for us to have to dispose of your vessel.”

The door closes behind the archangel and disappears into the wall. Crowley gives an indignant grunt. “Leave it to archangel Asshole to think playing good cop, bad cop on me is a great idea.”

“_Crowley!_” Aziraphale manages to whisper-shout at him, making him jump in his seat. “Keep your voice down, they’re not watching, but we can’t be sure they’re not eavesdropping.”

“Uh, sure, okay.” Crowley whispers back. Then he realizes Aziraphale is looking quite angrily at him. “What’d I do?”

“What did you _do_? I cannot believe you would have the gall to ask me that!” He was wrong, Aziraphale isn’t just angry. He is thoroughly, completely, beyond the pale _pissed_ at him.

“Wh—angel, I’m at a loss here.” He raises both eyebrows, trying to convey how genuinely confused he is. “I don’t remember anything before waking up here. What was I doing?”

“That is precisely what I would like to know!” Snaps back Aziraphale, furious. “You are the only demon to have been captured by Heaven! What were you doing?”

“_Me?_” Crowley stutters, trying to start three different sentences at once before settling on one. “Wh—I—how is it my fault I was kidnapped by your friends?”

“They’re not _my friends_, and… and you _must_ have been doing something! Otherwise they’d have no reason to target you specifically.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “The Lord does work in mysterious ways.”

“I can’t believe you!” Aziraphale is red in the face, and only in part for the effort of keeping his voice down.

When he touches Crowley again, he sends a white-hot electric shock from his wrist all the way to his neck. The angelic equivalent of grabbing someone at the shoulder and giving them a frustrated, firm shake.

The sound that escapes Crowley’s lips is definitely _not_ one of pain, and as soon as he hears himself, he shuts his mouth and widens his eyes, blinking once in surprise.

“Uh… didn’t mean to do that.” He mutters, staring at the pristine white floor.

There’s silence for a few, long seconds.

Then Aziraphale steps even closer, a finger under Crowley’s chin to lift his head up and meet his gaze before he lets a trickle of power flow into him again.

Crowley moans behind closed lips, an honest-to-God full body shiver breaking through him. The angel’s burning eyes pin him down, stronger than any heavenly rope.

He should ask what’s going on. He should open his mouth and tell Aziraphale this is all well and good (_very _good) but this is not the time for this kind of thing. He should.

Instead, when he’s able to focus his snake eyes on the angel again, he licks his lips and says, “Do it again.”

* * *

“_Angel!”_

Aziraphale has been at it for the better part of an hour, driving Crowley half out of his mind. Settled on the floor – on a plush pillow he’s miracled just for the occasion – between the demon’s knees, he’s wasted no time at all undoing the zipper of his tight jeans and pulling out his cock. He has been lazily, languidly lapping at it, just enough to get him hard, but not _too _hard.

With an infuriating, beautiful smirk, he lets it go and pulls back every single time he as much as suspects Crowley is cresting close to coming, watching him squirm helplessly in his seat.

Crowley’s nails would have dug lines into the hard material of the armrests his wrists are tied to, but the chair is no regular, human thing. It has been blinked into existence by an archangel, and his nails won’t even begin to scratch it.

Aziraphale has the tip of his cock between his lips now, giving him not a hint of teeth. Just wet, soft warmth, and then the bastard has the nerve to start bobbing his head – but just a little. Just enough to make him start leaking against his tongue. Crowley spreads his legs as far as they will go, shifting in his chair, positioning himself to be able to push his hips up and into his mouth. And Aziraphale, maddeningly, drops him once again. Crowley _growls._

“Shhh. We can’t be overheard.” Aziraphale sends hot shocks of power up his knee. A poor excuse for an admonishment, as all it accomplishes is making him harder and more desperate for contact.

Crowley has tried everything at this point – asking, persuading, even ‘threatening’, although all of his threats come down to _you’ll see what I’ll do to you once we get out of here_. Which really sounds more like a promise than anything else, if he thinks about it.

And all of this, lest he forget, it’s because Crowley won’t tell Aziraphale how he ended up in this predicament. But how could he tell him, when he doesn’t know himself? Underneath it all, he is beginning to feel genuinely frustrated that Aziraphale just won’t believe him. After all this time, after everything they’ve been through, can’t he tell Crowley is being honest?

Only one thing left for a desperate demon to do: _beg_.

“Please,” he says through gritted teeth, cock twitching helplessly. “Please, angel. I can’t…”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replies. “Do you want me to stop?” He envelopes his cock in his fingers and props himself up just enough to kiss it on its wet tip, then rests it against his cheek as he looks up at Crowley, all guileless blue eyes and fluttering white-blond eyelashes.

_Fuck me_, Crowley thinks as he bites down on his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood_._

“No!” He cries out, dripping a little against the angel’s soft cheek. “Just—please, _please_ more.”

Aziraphale wipes his face with the back of his hand and finally takes him completely into his mouth. Crowley’s head lulls backwards, he stares unseeing at the white ceiling as Aziraphale presses his hands into his thighs and keeps them far apart – he starts to spill shocks of power into his flesh and Crowley forgets how to breathe.

His toes curl inside his boots, his hips lift off the chair and he fucks up into Aziraphale’s perfect lips. He’s close, he’s so close, and he’s sure this orgasm will wreck him, the teasing went on forever and he’s ready to let it go, let it all go inside the angel’s willing mouth, and Aziraphale – Aziraphale _stops_. He stops dead and pulls back with one last, long lick.

The demon curls down as much as the restraints will allow him, letting out a noise he will, in the future, strongly deny resembles a sob, and watches Aziraphale tuck his cock back into his underwear and zip up his jeans.<strike></strike>

“What I think,” Aziraphale says, standing up, a wicked spark in his eyes. “Is that you need some time alone to help with your memory.”

_Fuck me_, Crowley thinks again in the span of less than a minute, and he means it both literally and figuratively. _Fuck me, he’s so good at this_. But didn’t he know already? If there is anyone out there capable of driving him insane with pleasure and frustration, wouldn’t it be his angel?

“Are you going to leave me here?” He asks, staring up at Aziraphale without lifting his head. “Tied like this?” He wishes he could keep the eagerness out of his voice, but he’s too excited to manage such a feat.

“Hmm.” Aziraphale runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back and away from his eyes. “For a bit. You’ll be safe, I’ll make sure of it.”

Crowley juts out his lower lip a little. “All alone?”

“Well…” A quick snap of Aziraphale’s fingers and Crowley feels _something_. Something so small he could easily ignore it if it wasn’t sitting inside him, very close to an extremely sensitive spot of his anatomy. Aziraphale opens his hand, and Crowley sees a slick little black remote control hanging from his middle finger. He swallows hard enough he’s sure Aziraphale has heard it. The angel presses a button and the thing vibrates inside him, just for a split second. “Not all alone, no.”

“You… you’re—” Crowley doesn’t find the word to describe him. Brilliant. Ridiculous. Incredible. Barking mad.

“Quite.” Aziraphale agrees, leaning down to leave a kiss on his forehead, then another on his lips. He reaches out to his left arm and rolls back his sleeve to expose Crowley’s ridiculously expensive Devon watch, making sure he can see it. “I’ll be back for you, dearest mine.”

As Aziraphale leaves, Crowley knows he shouldn’t be feeling this proud, or aroused for that matter – he’s still tied to a chair in Heaven’s headquarters, for Satan’s sake. Somehow, though, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now.

* * *

Aziraphale has done it five times already. Every fifteen minutes, precise like clockwork, he activates the vibrator, lets it work for exactly two minutes and a half, and stops. Starts again fifteen minutes later.

Now Crowley understands the point of leaving his watch where he can see it. The seconds ticking away are driving him mad.

Fourteen minutes and three seconds now. He pictures Aziraphale, God knows where, with his old pocket watch in one hand and the remote control in the other. Fourteen minutes and thirty-one seconds. He must be smiling to himself, pleased with the little game he’s come up with. Fourteen minutes and forty-five seconds. Maybe he’s hard too, underneath all his layers of clothing. Fifty seconds. Maybe he’s even touching himself, at least palming at his boner through his trousers. He must be. Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight, fifty-nine…

Nothing happens.

Fifteen minutes and one second. Two. Three. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Forty seconds. Fifty seconds.

Sixteen minutes. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen minutes.

Twenty minutes.

Crowley slumps back, disappointment washing over him. Aziraphale must have got bored with their little game. Or maybe he’s had some urgent business to attend to, and he’ll be back later to ‘interrogate’ him again. The demon shifts, rubbing against the harsh material of his jeans through his underwear. Not enough, not nearly enough. He needs Aziraphale. His hands, his mouth, whatever—it doesn’t really matter, as long as it’s him.

He closes his eyes, tries to sense him – but it’s useless, here in Heaven’s headquarters. His powers are no less bound than his wrists. When he tries to reach for him all his mind encounters is a thick fog. He tries to call for him, even though he knows it’ll be in vain.

_Aziraphale. Aziraphale. Azira—_

He yelps as the vibrator is activated again without warning. He arches his back, hitting the nape of his neck against the chair and not giving a shit. He only has two minutes and a half to enjoy this, and maybe he can manage—

The vibrator stops. He curses out loud, then remembers he should keep quiet and bangs the palms of his hands against the armrests instead. The vibrator starts again, and Crowley melts into the chair, moaning quietly at the feeling, unsure how long this is going to last. A minute goes by, and he’s sure Aziraphale will turn it off, won’t risk making him come, but the little thing starts vibrating _faster_, and fuck, Crowley didn’t even _think_ it could have different speeds.

His hips buck up of their own accord, his hands straining helplessly against the ropes, desperate to grab, touch, squeeze, find release. It’s not enough. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s not enough._

The vibrator halts again a few moments later.

With nothing else to do, Crowley breathes in and out and stares at his watch, the only thing marking the passage of time. There are no windows in the room, and even if there were it’s always midday in Heaven, just as it is always midnight in Hell. Fucking symbolism.

Aziraphale mostly leaves him alone from that point on. Just a little buzz every so often, just to remind him he’s still thinking about him.

_I’m thinking about you too, angel. You have no idea._

* * *

“Ready to talk to me?”

Crowley’s head snaps up in surprise, the disappearing door made no noise and he had no forewarning Aziraphale was back.

He’s calmed down enough to unsheathe his best shit-eating grin for his angel. “Always ready to talk to you, angel.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looks disappointed for a split second before hiding it away and clearing his throat. “I’m all ears then.”

“In the beginning, God created the Heaven. Then She saw it was full of wankers and created the Earth—”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale puts a hand over the demon’s mouth. “You mustn’t blaspheme inside Heaven’s headquarters.”

Crowley doesn’t reply; instead he locks eyes with his angel and runs his tongue along the length of Aziraphale’s beautiful fingers. The angel retracts his hand like he’s been scalded. He reaches into his pocket and the vibrator still lodged inside Crowley starts up again, this time pulsing in a regular rhythm.

The demon leans forward, angling his head up, reaching for a kiss. Aziraphale gives in, taking a step closer and opening his lips for Crowley, moaning against his tongue. Crowley feels his arms suddenly tugged outwards, spreading, and realizes the angel is miracling the chair to be larger. When he’s done, Aziraphale climbs on to straddle him, the pressure and warmth of his soft body suddenly grinding against Crowley.

“Ye_s_…” he hisses, yellow eyes fluttering close. As he jerks his hips up and against Aziraphale, more noises slip out his mouth and into the angel’s. “Ye_s_, ye_s_, ye_s_…”

He almost comes in his pants right there, but Aziraphale stops him with a hand pressing over his heart and a meaningful look. He shifts to tug at his earlobe with his teeth and whisper, “Wouldn’t you rather do that inside me?”

All Crowley manages to reply with is a hungry, furious noise, because the mere thought of it is enough to make him almost lose it right there and then.

“Yes, please, yes, let me…”

And Aziraphale lets him. Crowley is not looking down and he misses the moment Aziraphale makes their clothes disappear. All he knows is that, all of a sudden, the angel is naked and his entrance is slick and tight for him, and it’s slowly enveloping him, inch by inch.

He holds on tight to the armrests of the chair. “I need to touch you, angel, can I…”

“_No_.” Comes the reply, curt and firm. Aziraphale starts moving over him. The vibrator is still pulsating inside him, and the angel above him is setting a slow, torturous pace, sure to reduce what’s left of the demon’s brain to mush.

Crowley forgets all about the watch on his wrist and loses his sense of time.

Aziraphale goes slow, and then fast, and then slow again, and then angles his hips just so, getting him exactly where he wants him, and his moans change, from breathy and low to urgent and loud, and Crowley knows – he’s getting close. He’ll come from nothing but his cock inside him, he’ll spread his come all over their chests, and Crowley will absolutely, surely, without a doubt, discorporate right then and there.

“Angel… angel, you _have to_ let me touch you. Fuck, Aziraphale, it’ll feel so much better, if you let me…” He’s blathering, he doesn’t care. To drive his point home, he presses his lips on Aziraphale’s neck and sucks, leaving a dark circle on his otherwise unmarred skin. “I can make it better for you, I can, you just have to let me—”

“Confess.” Aziraphale breaths out, without opening his eyes, without stopping. “Confess, and I will let you do anything.”

Crowley growls again like a caged animal. He feels no shame, only an edge of desperation as he pleads. “You have to believe me—I would have told you if I knew. I would tell you anything, give you anything, I...”

Aziraphale presses a kiss between his eyebrows. Crowley’s golden eyes open wide at the unexpected, sweet gesture, and a moment later the angel’s fingers touch his wrists, finally freeing him from the ropes.

Aziraphale believes him. _Aziraphale believes him_.

Immediately, Crowley wraps his arms around him, pulling him down against him, just in the way he knows Aziraphale likes. He wasn’t kidding, he _will_ give him everything.

He sets a faster pace and his hands go everywhere, all over Aziraphale’s plump thighs – God, he loves his thighs – his smooth back, his cheeks, he holds him still while he kisses him deep, and finally his fingers find his rock-hard cock and begin to pump as his other hand gets lost into white-blond curls.

Crowley has half a mind to get them down on the floor and fuck Aziraphale into it until he cries his name, but then – he looks up, and the archangel fucking Gabriel is standing right there, in the doorway, frozen, violet eyes open wide and mouth agape.

“Uh, angel. There’s…” He nods towards the door, and Aziraphale twists around in his lap to glance over his own shoulder. Crowley is expecting their world to shatter, but instead – the angel turns back to him, clenching around his cock.

_“Keep going."_

Now. Logically, there are many things Crowley should do. First of all, he should stop what he’s doing. He should also convince Aziraphale that this is completely insane, and that they need to stop fucking right now. He should probably hit Gabriel over his blessed head and hope archangels can suffer from amnesia. He should. He _should_.

Instead, with the angel’s words ringing in his ears, he’s completely taken over by a raw, deep, strong feeling, and he holds Aziraphale closer to him.

_You thought he was yours all along, but he’s mine._

He stares at Gabriel right in his stupid eyes as he thrusts up into the angel, unblinking.

_He’s scared of you, but it’s me he wants._

His hand pulls at Aziraphale’s curls to make him tilt his head to the side, exposing his pale white neck, to make sure the archangel can see his damned face very, very well as he sinks his teeth into it.

_He’s mine, and I will make him happy, I will give him anything he desires. He’ll never be scared of me._

His fingers are slick with precome as he slides them up and down Aziraphale’s cock. It’s twitching in his hand, almost there, almost there.

_You don’t even know what you lost, you thick-headed fools. The one good angel you had. But I found him, and I will keep him as long as he wants me. My angel. _

_Mine._

_Mine. _

_Mine._

Thinking these thoughts, he is bringing himself closer to his orgasm. He can feel it thrumming under his skin, just a little more, just a little—

* * *

“Fuck.” Is the only thing he says, keeping his eyes shut, trying and failing to hold on to the dream, trying to toss himself right back into it, go back to that impossibly perfect feeling of Aziraphale tight around him, fucking himself onto his cock.

It’s no use. He’s awake now. He’s awake, and painfully hard besides. So he moves his hands to his hips, lifts the waistband of his pyjamas and underwear, and—

“Crowley?”

He jumps and almost falls off the bed when Aziraphale calls his name. He finally opens his eyes, stuck with one hand holding his bottoms open and the other suspended mid-air. He glances at the angel sitting next to him in bed, a closed book on his lap.

Aziraphale looks down between his legs, then back up at his face, and lights up. “Can I, ah, be of assistance?”

“_Nnnghyeah_.” Crowley croaks out, undressing himself very quickly and inviting Aziraphale to lie closer to him. The material of the angel’s pyjamas is thick and soft, and it feels cool on his feverish skin.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale says, so fond he almost melts his demonic ears off as he wraps his fingers around Crowley’s cock. “What on Earth were you dreaming about? You were making such noises…”

“_S_tuff.” Crowley replies eloquently, relief washing over him as Aziraphale begins to stroke him. He has such lovely hands, Crowley’s hands on his own body never feel that way.

“Oh?” Aziraphale gives him a little smirk and slows down the movement of his hand. “Maybe I will hold back until you tell me, then.”

“No, no, no, no, _no_.” Crowley whines, “Plea_s_e don’t interrogate me again.”

“Again?” Aziraphale asks, with renewed interest.

“Ah, ye_s_, in my dream…” Crowley presses the palms of both hands against his eyes. “I was kidnapped by Heaven, and you were put in charge of interrogating me.”

Aziraphale gives an amused hum into the side of his neck. “It seemed you were enjoying being _interrogated_ quite a bit.”

“It was a… _hnnnn_…” He rolls his hips into Aziraphale’s hand. “Not your typical interrogation technique, I’ll tell you that.”

“My, my.” He chuckles, the lovely bastard. “Was I very bad to you?”

“Awful!” Crowley replies, betrayed by a smile on his face. “The wor_s_t! You just wouldn’t let me—you wouldn’t let me finish! For hour_s_…”

“Oh, my.” Aziraphale tuts. “That just won’t do. What about…” He presses kisses on the side of Crowley’s face, over his tattoo and all around it. “I help you finish once for every time I didn’t in your dream? Would you let me make it up to you?”

Crowley doesn’t try to speak, because he’s not stupid and he knows how he would sound right now. Instead, he keeps his eyes shut tight and gives a very energetic nod.

* * *

The first orgasm rips through him like a gunshot. His body had been waiting for hours, was still enveloped in the warmth carried over from his dream when Aziraphale’s clever fingers started touching him. He might be rasping something like _fuck, finally, fuck_, but honestly, he has no idea what words are coming out of his mouth in this moment. It goes on and on, each shudder a little smaller than the previous, until he falls back into the mattress, warm fluid pooling on his stomach and little sparks of pleasure tingling beneath his skin, from his toes to his ears.

Aziraphale gives him a few seconds to catch his breath, then cleans him up with a snap of his fingers, and moves to position himself between his legs, kissing the side of his knee.

Crowley has never thought a refractory period should last longer than ten seconds, and he surely doesn’t expect his own to last any longer than that. So it doesn’t. He glances down and his angel is looking at him like he’s the most precious thing in the whole universe, but also like he’s going to take him apart piece by piece. _Do it, for somebody’s sake, please do it. _Crowley swallows and closes his eyes.

Echoes of the Aziraphale in his dream are still fresh in his mind. The real Aziraphale, though, is very different, and has no intention to tease him, going instead in the opposite direction – lavishing kisses on his inner thighs until the demon can’t help but shiver, doing his utmost best to keep his hips still.

“A terrible shame you can’t see yourself as I see you, my love.” The angel whispers to the smooth juncture between his thigh and his body, blue eyes turned up to look at his face. “Beautiful… truly gorgeous.”

They’ve done this enough times that Crowley knows better than to protest. Aziraphale will just double down on his praise and he’ll burn himself twice as fast. Besides – it’s not like Crowley _minds_. He feels an obligation to object, but the truth is that Aziraphale’s compliments get in through his ears, travel beneath his skin, caress his charred black heart, and end up right between his legs.

“I won’t be able to talk for a while.” Aziraphale purrs as he licks a hot strip along the length of his cock, leaving a small kiss on its head. “Why don’t you tell me the details of your dream?”

“Ngh…” Crowley is not exactly fond of words at the best of times, but Aziraphale asked in such a sweet voice, his request made _very slightly_ more convincing by the fact that it was uttered against his hardening cock. “I can try.”

The breath is knocked out of him as Aziraphale takes him into his mouth all at once, until his nose brushes into the coarse red hair at the base. Crowley sees his pale eyelashes flutter and almost loses it. The angel’s eyes turn up to him, and he knows he’s waiting for Crowley to talk.

Can he do it? Recounting a dream that’s already slipping away would be hard enough and, right now, there’s an added layer of difficulty, seeing as all his blood is leaving his brain and rushing down to his cock.

Well, fuck it, he’ll give it a shot.

“I was… I was in an empty room, tied to a chair,” he manages to push out as Aziraphale’s tongue grinds against his length. “I think.”

Aziraphale is going at it wet and messy, like Crowley is a feast sprawled out before him. In a sense, he guesses he is.

“You were so—_ah_—so angry, angel. You were—” What’s the word? “_Furious_. You thought I was lying and—_hnnn_—you decided to make me talk by cockblocking me.” Does Aziraphale even know what cockblocking means? Well, whatever, he’s smart, he’ll figure it out. “You were in the room with me—ah, a little slower—yes, yes, just like that – and you… first you did _this_, but not really like this. Fuck, actually this is so much better…” He forgets where he’s going for a second, reaching down to stroke Aziraphale’s soft curls.

The angel gives a noise around his cock, encouraging him to continue. Bossy and gorgeous as usual. It doesn’t escape Crowley’s attention that one of Aziraphale’s hands has disappeared from view, probably stroking himself through the fabric of his pyjamas.

_And how the fuck am I supposed to talk with my dick in your mouth, _he doesn’t ask out loud, _knowing you’re probably touching yourself while you suck every coherent thought out of my mind?_

“You left. At some point, but you had a, a, a little thing…” He tugs at the angel’s hair as he feels the soft pad of a finger circle his entrance. “A vibrator thing, I don’t know, I never saw it, you just—_fuck – _sorry, I mean – a thing _inside_ me, and you had a remote control…”

Aziraphale makes a surprised noise, and then Crowley can’t talk anymore because he’s speeding up, hard and fast, his lips a hot ring sliding up and down his cock until he can’t, he can’t hold back anymore, and just as he begins to come Aziraphale presses the finger inside him and his golden eyes fly open, hips lifting off the bed and into the angel’s mouth, and he can’t hear the strangled sound he makes, for his heart is pounding too loudly in his ears.

The next thing he knows, Aziraphale must have moved up and over him, because he’s kissing his lips, tender and soft and relentless. His fingers are tracing small circles over the black symbol on the side of the demon’s face. Crowley has figured out in the past months that Aziraphale, maybe without even realizing, reaches for his tattoo whenever he thinks his demon needs to be comforted. What did the angel hear in his voice? “Turn around for me, yes?”

Now, Crowley doesn’t think of himself as obedient. Flexible, maybe. Cooperative, if he feels like it. Patient, you fucking bet. Obedient – that’s a whole nother thing. And in fact, if he does indeed turn around, even though his knees are still shaking, and if he dutifully places himself on the pillow Aziraphale has laid down for him, it’s in equal parts because he wants to and because he wants to give his angel everything he desires.

His spent cock twitches against the soft pillow as Aziraphale gently spreads his cheeks and begins eating him out, murmuring into his body, “Please, do keep going.”

So Crowley tries.

“Y-you tortured me with that, hmm.” _Oh_, he doesn’t half mind the pressure of the pillow against his cock, even though it’s so sensitive right now it almost hurts. “For a while. Then you came back, and you still…”

He has to close his eyes, and he’s not sure whether it’s because he already feels so wet under Aziraphale’s tongue or because his throat is closing up, tight and raw.

“You still wouldn’t believe me.”

He’s sure there are whole books out there written about the meaning of dreams, but he’s never bothered to look. He’s a demon, those don’t apply to him, do they? If he had that dream, well – at most it means he was horny as fuck, and they’re taking care of that right now.

So why does he also feel comforted by Aziraphale’s hands on him, tracing circles around the dimples on the small of his back? And shit, why do his eyes _sting_?

“Carry on, Crowley.” Aziraphale whispers his name like a prayer, and the demon grits his teeth and continues.

“You… at last, I managed to convince you.” Aziraphale pushes a slick finger inside him, and Crowley finds himself rutting harder against the pillow. “You, _ah_, finally you let me… _fuck_, you rode me right there, on the chair I was tied to, and anyone could walk in…”

But someone did walk in, didn’t he? Crowley recalls a pair of cold, violet eyes. Normally, thinking of Gabriel would be a boner killer. Not this time, though, as he remembers the way he stared at him, with Aziraphale bouncing wildly on his cock, as he remembers the way he held his angel close, possessively, staking his claim on his heart over Heaven.

“Did walk in.” he corrects himself through gritted teeth, though he doesn’t want to mention Gabriel’s name right now. “And you had your back to the door, but I told you, and you…”

“What happened then?” Aziraphale rasps, and Jesus fucking Christ, Crowley can tell he’s hanging on his lips, turned on by the picture he’s painting for him with his limping words.

“I… told you, but you, you said…” Aziraphale adds a second finger, curls them inside him, and Crowley _keens_, and fuck, he’s close again already, “_To keep going_, I’m sorry, we kept going…”

“It was just a dream, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice has turned to velvet. He doesn’t stop, although Crowley expected him to. Instead, he thrusts harder into him, then crawls over him to bite down on the soft spot just below his shoulder blade – and that’s it, Crowley is done for, he’s coming again against the pillow, clenching hard around the angel’s fingers, his own nails digging into the sheets until they almost rip.

Aziraphale’s firm hands turn him around and he opens his arms for his angel, receiving a warm, wet kiss and his lover’s soft body pressed over his. “Ngh… _s_en_s_itive.” He hisses. “What about you, can I—”

“I’m not done,” Aziraphale responds, a hand sneaking between their bodies to knead at his soft cock. “Can you, again?”

Crowley stutters as he looks for the answer. “I-I don’t think, I mean, I…” whatever he thinks, his body is responding to the angel’s touch, and he finds himself wondering if he’s grown a bit of a pavlovian reaction to Aziraphale’s hands. They always bring him so much pleasure; it’s no wonder his cock twitches to attention, even if being touched so soon stings like consecrated ground.

“One more, for me?” Aziraphale asks, in that ruinously innocent way of his.

Crowley surprises himself by nodding.

* * *

It’s not just one more. In hindsight, he should have seen this coming.

He knows Aziraphale inside and out, and he saw that determined little glint in his eyes. And yet, not only did Crowley never stop him, but he kept saying yes, yes, _yes_, much further than it would have been wise to, straining his physical vessel to its utmost limit.

But it’s so good. Even if, another few orgasms later, he can’t stop the shaking in his hands as he reaches for Aziraphale, who’s finally decided to chase his own pleasure. He chose to do so by pushing Crowley down on his back, straddling him, and sitting onto his cock, riding him into the mattress.

He’s a sight to behold, blond curls in disarray, the features of his face twisted in pleasure, his hard cock bouncing with every movement. But the thing Crowley loves the most is the hint of a smile on his face, even as he moans and sighs. Beautiful, happy, glowing as he should be.

He reaches for him to stroke him, but Aziraphale, instead, takes his hand and intertwines their fingers. He pulls him up to ask to be flipped over and, carefully, Crowley complies. Aziraphale wraps his legs around his waist, urging him closer and closer still.

His muscles strain and scream with the effort to keep pushing and pulling, he grits his teeth harder. He wants to satisfy his angel, and this body will obey his will if it’s the last thing it does.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale breathes out, his arms around his neck, his hands caressing his short ginger hair.

Crowley, who’s absolutely still not over being called anything other than his name by Aziraphale, swallows. “Yes?”

“I would never—I would never not believe you.” He cups the demon’s face in his hands, showering kisses all around his lips. “It’s all different now.” A kiss on the corner of his mouth, a kiss on his jawline, a kiss on his sharp cheekbone, “I trust you. Without a single doubt.”

And _fuck¸_ that’s just too much. It’s too much, and he can’t take it. Crowley presses their mouths together in a sloppy, desperate kiss, because Aziraphale can’t see, Aziraphale can’t know his eyes are getting glossy, not now, not ever.

Aziraphale who, for all intents and purposes kept a cold, safe distance from him for six thousand years, now burns brighter than the sun. “Again,” he asks, clenching around him, angling his hips up, pulling him closer with the back of his feet. “Again, again.”

“I…” Crowley was about to say he can’t, not again, not when he’s trying to get a grip over his wild heart and the feelings storming inside his chest, not with every nerve under his skin so worn out and sensitive it feels like it’s on fire, but then – it becomes easier to just let go, let it all go. So he does.

He grabs Aziraphale’s cock and strokes, shuts his eyes tight and lets two tears roll down – just the two and no more than that, and is vaguely aware the angel is telling him something, something about how good he is, how perfect he is, how he would and _has_ trusted him with his life – and then he’s spilling inside him burning hot with a desperate growl, and soon after Aziraphale comes into his hand. At last.

* * *

He feels incredibly lighter when he wakes up – and, this time, he’s waking up for real. No creepy white rooms, no ties around his wrists. He expects to find Aziraphale awake as usual, sitting up next to him with a book, but he doesn’t. For once, the angel is still sleeping.

Crowley holds in his breath, turning on his side to watch him. Aziraphale doesn’t know this, but he frowns when he sleeps. There’s a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows, as if he’s carefully considering the matter of sleeping and finding it lacking. His mouth is slack, his hair in disarray – not so much from the sleeping, but rather because they’ve been fu—_making love_ until the break of dawn. He must have fallen asleep with his arms crossed against his chest, and now they’re tangled in an awkward position. That can’t be comfortable. No wonder he doesn’t enjoy sleeping; he still hasn’t learned how to do it properly.

Crowley has never liked saying or hearing words of thanks. So, instead, he sneaks out of bed as quietly as he can, goes downstairs to their kitchen, and tries to put together a breakfast Aziraphale will appreciate. His cooking skills aren’t much, he’s had a lot of time to learn but he’s also never actually needed to eat. Still, he manages a decent spread with grapes, apples and figs, buttered toast, and starts scrambling the eggs as soon as he hears Aziraphale’s steps above his head shuffling around the bedroom.

He boils water for the tea and sets the table for two. He sighs at himself as his long fingers skip over the items in their cupboard until he finds Aziraphale’s favourite teacup. When did he become such a sentimental demon? Or has he always been like this? _Ugh_. Later on, he’ll have to go for a drive around town and invert some push/pull signs on doors of shops or something, just to keep himself in proper demonic shape.

Aziraphale, bless him, this morning has decided to look absolutely radiant, and beam at him like the fucking sun itself as he steps into the kitchen. “Good morning, Crowley.”

Crowley replies with a non-committal grunt as he pours out two cups of tea. He wrinkles his nose at the eggs since they didn’t come out quite as fluffy as he’d wanted them, but Aziraphale’s good mood seems to be bulletproof.

“Oh, how wonderful!” He exclaims as he reaches out for a piece of toast and an apple. “You even managed to make scrambled eggs.”

Crowley can’t help repeating that last part in a mocking tone under his breath, cutting himself off when Aziraphale glances pointedly at him. “It’s just breakfast, angel. Hardly rocket science.”

“I take it you’re feeling better?” Aziraphale asks him, glancing at him over the rim of his cup as he gets his first sip of tea.

“M’fine, yes.” Crowley rips off a few grapes and pops them into his mouth whole. He swallows, sitting down across from him and leaning over the table. “Although I didn’t get much sleep.”

“And whose fault is that?” The corner of Aziraphale’s lips quirks up. He then reaches out across the table to put his hand over Crowley’s, eyes crinkling as he smiles at him. “I meant what I said, I hope you know that. Every word.”

Crowley is quiet for a long moment. “I know it _here_,” he points in the vague direction of his right temple with a bony finger, “Takes a while to know it _here_.” He moves his hand to the centre of his chest, over his stomach. He hopes Aziraphale won’t ask him for clarification, because this is the best he can offer. One doesn’t spend six thousand years not talking about their feelings just to suddenly learn to communicate them effectively in the span of a few months.

But Aziraphale has again the rim of the teacup between his soft lips, his eyes smiling mischievously up at him.

“What?” Crowley has to ask, because he can’t help it, his teeth have never once managed to bite his serpentine tongue before it can produce ruinous questions.

“Maybe we really have gone native, as our head offices said. It is a very human thing to work though something that is troubling you by dreaming about it.” He sets down his teacup with a delicate clink. “Although I have to assume your dreams to be a little more imaginative than the usual fare.”

“Well, so sorry to bother you.” Crowley mutters, the tips of his ears growing hot.

“No, dearest, you misunderstand.” Aziraphale lets all the fruit and eggs and tea sit on the table, instead he lifts Crowley’s hand, tugs him closer, brings his fingers to his lips, kisses his knuckles. “I quite enjoyed myself.”

Crowley finds his smirk again. “Oh, did you now?”

“As if that wasn’t obvious, you cunning old serpent.” He turns Crowley’s hand around, kisses the centre of his palm. “In truth, what I was thinking is – well, if in the future you had any more matters that need to be settled…” He presses his lips to the pulse point on the demon’s slender wrist. “I’m quite convinced we could do it again.”

Crowley’s grin grows wider on his face. “But what about you, angel? Do you not have any ‘matters that need to be settled’ of your own?_”_

“Actually, my dear…” Aziraphale gives a soft giggle. “I happen to have a whole _host_ of them.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for closing on that pun*, but you know what? Aziraphale isn’t. Take it up with him.
> 
> (* <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heavenly_host>)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Do It Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21162764) by [Literarion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literarion/pseuds/Literarion)


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